


In Sickness And In Sorrow

by holdyourbreathfornow



Series: Family of Three [5]
Category: Half-Life but the AI is Self-Aware
Genre: Child Death, Crying, Emotional Numbness, Hospitals, I will STAB you right in the emotions, Illness, Multi, Parents thinking their child is dead, Read the tags kiddies please, Relationship breakdown, but the peepaws do not, don't FUCK WITH ME, listen WE know Gordon's alive, parent blaming themself for the death of their child, very convincing fake bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdyourbreathfornow/pseuds/holdyourbreathfornow
Summary: Joshua's been fighting off his sickness for awhile now, and Bubby convinces Coomer to take him to the Black Mesa hospital.Now the only question is if he'll ever be able to forgive himself for it.
Relationships: Bubby & Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman
Series: Family of Three [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918150
Comments: 64
Kudos: 250





	In Sickness And In Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC. DO NOT READ THIS EXPECTING A HAPPY ENDING. THE AU ENDS HAPPILY BUT THIS FIC DOES NOT. I WARNED YOU

When Bubby and Coomer had originally discussed becoming parents, they had upheld the glorious tradition of hundreds of scientists before them.

Namely, they had done a metric shit ton of research. Bubby had had entire binders with articles he’d bought online and Coomer bought every book he could get his hands on. And while the information they’d gathered had been very helpful on the logical side of things, like establishing bedtime and how to set up a nursery, they weren’t as helpful with those pesky emotions. Like how to keep from panicking when your kid got sick.

Joshua whines as he clings to Coomer, and Coomer worriedly brushes sweaty strands of hair back from Joshua’s head.

“My tummy hurts…” Joshua mutters and Coomer hugs him, rubbing at his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I know, dear, I know. But you have to keep your food down, okay? Papa’s running you a bath and then you can go back to sleep.”

“Is the bath gonna be cold again?” Joshua asks petulantly and Coomer sighs.

“The bath’s because you’re too hot, Joshua.” He explains patiently and Joshua sniffles, clinging to the front of his dad’s shirt.

“I don’t want the bath, Daddy.”

“Oh, my little boy…” Coomer closes his eyes and presses a kiss into Joshua’s hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Joshua starts to cry, but there’s no force behind it. He’s just too tired and soon enough the cries drop down to hiccups and sniffles.

Eventually, Bubby comes out from the bathroom, sweater sleeves pushed up past his elbows and bags heavy under his eyes. 

“The bath’s ready.” He mutters and Coomer hands Joshua over, Joshua instantly curling into Bubby’s chest. Bubby sighs and turns back towards the bathroom. Coomer follows after anxiously.

“I know you don’t trust Black Mesa.” Bubby says as he tugs Joshua’s shirt over his head. Joshua yawns and scrubs at his puffy eyes and Coomer watches Bubby’s face go a little softer, the hard angles melting into his Bubby, just as worried as Coomer is. “But they have medical degrees, Harold. And while you may want to get one someday, reading textbooks can only do so much.”

“You’re right.” Joshua cries out as Bubby lowers him into the tub and Bubby lets their son squeeze his hand. “I’ll make him an appointment for tomorrow.” Bubby looks at him out of the corner of his eye before his gaze turns right back to Joshua. Coomer turns to leave the bathroom, but stops in the doorway when Bubby speaks up.

“Harold. We’ll be fine. All of us.” He smiles sadly at Joshua, who’s being very brave as he tries to shampoo his own hair. “Isn’t that right, freckles?”

“Mm-hmm.” Joshua tries to smile as well and that makes a little bit of the weight lift from Coomer’s chest.

“Of course! Nothing can keep the indomitable Joshua Coomer down!” He heads out, their voices drifting after him.

“What does… Daddy’s big word mean?”

“In-dom-it-able.” Bubby sounds out, waiting until Joshua slowly does the same. “And it means…”

-

The Black Mesa doctors had insisted on hospitalizing Joshua, calling his fever dangerously high. The number of other parents at Black Mesa is high enough that there’s a dedicated pediatric wing, and Joshua’s able to get his own room.

It’s his first night there, and visiting hours are drawing to a close. Joshua, who’s never been on his own before, does absolutely not want his dads to leave, clinging to them and crying as hard as his little body can.

And it’s breaking Coomer’s heart.

“Joshua…” He murmurs, combing his fingers through their son’s hair. “Joshua, please stop. You’re going to make yourself sick, my dear.”

“Please don’t leave, Daddy, plea-he-hease!” Joshua’s little hands are like brands, burning straight through Coomer’s shirt and wrangling his soul. There’s that nasty voice in his head telling him he’s an awful parent for letting his baby get so worked up, but as much as he had argued, the nurses and doctors had all stood firm on the fact he and Bubby couldn’t stay with their little boy.

“Joshua, I’m so very sorry.” Coomer carefully lifts Joshua into his lap, watching the IV, and rocks him as Joshua wails into his chest. “Oh my god, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Joshua…” Bubby lets Joshua latch onto his hand. “Hey, Fuzzhead, I might have an idea.” While he doesn’t stop crying, it dies down just the smallest bit, and he turns his head towards Bubby as he sniffles weakly. “Harold, gimme your hair thing.”

“It’s called a scrunchie, love.” Nonetheless, he tugs it free, his hair falling past his shoulders, and Bubby takes it from him and slips it around Joshua’s wrist on the hand that doesn’t have an IV.

“If you get scared, or miss us, just look at this. It’ll remind you how much we love you.” He presses a kiss to Joshua’s tiny knuckles and Joshua nods, his other hand already releasing Coomer’s shirt to clutch at the scrunchie. “Plus, I brought along one of your best friends.” Bubby leans back over the bed and rummages around for a moment, before he comes back up with a plushie cat. Joshua squeaks with delight and Coomer beams.

“Thank goodness. You brought Mr. Fluffkins.” Bubby scoffs, and presses the cat toy into Joshua’s arms.

“Of course I did! You can’t separate a captain from his co-captain.” He looks down at Joshua and his gaze goes soft. “We love you, Freckles. So much, okay?”

“Love you too, Papa.” Joshua wraps his arms around Bubby’s neck, pulling so Bubby nearly whacks his face against Coomer’s clavicle. He chuckles and squeezes Joshua.

“We’ll be back as soon as possible, Joshua.” Coomer hugs them both, and Joshua nods in the middle.

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He does just that and Joshua smiles as he shakes their locked pinkies together. “We have to go now, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Joshua’s still a little sniffly, but he smiles and waves at them with Mr. Fluffkins’ fuzzy orange paw. 

On the long walk back to their dorm apartment, Coomer has to stop and lean against a wall as tears blur his vision.

“Harold…” Bubby doesn’t sound like he’s in much better condition, voice muzzy with unshed tears. The two gravitate towards each other and lean against each other as they cry in the darkened hall of Black Mesa. 

“H-he’ll be okay.” Coomer chokes out finally, pulling away and wiping his eyes. “He’s our boy, he’s tougher than some fucking illness.”

“Hell, yeah.” Bubby pushes his glasses up and swipes at his eyes, before he pushes them back down and hugs Coomer, letting his head drop to Coomer’s shoulder. “We’ll see him tomorrow.” 

“Indeed.” Coomer hugs Bubby back and sets them both gently swaying, like trees caught in some unfelt breeze.

-

Coomer wakes up to the landline ringing. Bubby sits up, Coomer’s arm slipping away from his waist, and Coomer rolls over as Bubby answers the phone. He starts to fall back asleep, when-

“...What?” Bubby’s voice arrests Coomer’s attention and he sits up as Bubby runs a hand through his hair, gripping at it fiercely. “No, say that again. And hopefully we’re just having a FUCKING LACK OF GODDAMN COMMUNICATION!” Bubby’s yell is ripped from him and Coomer crawls across the bed to grab at Bubby’s arm. Bubby won’t meet his eye, staring at the wall as he bares his teeth in a silent snarl. “We’re coming down there. I don’t give a damn it’s five in the morning, we’re coming down there.” He slams the phone back down onto the receiver and turns, forcing Harold’s arms open and around him.

“Bubby, you’re scaring me, my love.” Coomer clutches at him and Bubby shakes apart in his arms, tears heating the bare skin of Coomer’s chest. “Bubby, please-”

“He’s gone.” Bubby whispers finally and takes a measured breath. “We have to go, Harold. Maybe there was a screw up with the papers or… There has to be an explanation.” Bubby inhales, teetering on the edge of hysteria, and pulls away from Coomer.

Coomer stares at the wall, still processing.

“When you say ‘gone’-” He looks at Bubby, who won’t meet his eye. “Bubby. When they told you he was gone-”

“They said he died in his sleep.” Bubby’s shoulders are around his ears and he won’t let Coomer touch him. “W-we need to go down there, Harold. P-please.”

“Of course.” Coomer tries to blink his way out of the fog and goes to get his shoes.

The nurse at the front desk watches them with kind, sad eyes, and Coomer hates himself a little bit for hating him.

“Hello, Dr. Bubby. Dr. Coomer.”

“Where is he?” Bubby asks and lets Coomer lace their fingers together. “Joshua Coomer, where is he?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” The nurse murmurs and leads them down a hall, away from where Joshua’s room was. “We have his things gathered for you. And a private room to… Say goodbye.”

The door the nurse leads them to is down a grim hallway, cheery murals of smiling animals replaced by impersonal gray tile. Coomer’s heart rabbits in his chest as they get closer to the door, until it feels like it stops when they’re finally in front of it.

“I’ll be out here when you’re ready.” The nurse shuffles around a little. “Again, sirs, I’m so sorry.”

“Th-thank you.” Coomer nods to the man while Bubby throws the door open and rushes in.

Coomer follows him through the door and it closes behind him.

The room is lit by a single overhead lamp, buzzing faintly. In the middle of the room is a metal table. And on that table…

“No.” Coomer doesn’t know he’s said something until it echoes in the room. His feet move without conscious thought. 

There’s a white sheet pulled up to Joshua’s chin, and his eyes are closed. Bubby’s the first to reach him and he screams in agony, falling to his knees next to the table. 

“WHY?” Bubby screams and slams his hands against the table. Tears drip down his cheeks. Coomer watches, frozen in place a few feet away. “PLEASE, GOD, SATAN, WHO THE FUCK EVER, WHY?!” His hands slip down the cold metal and he slumps even further over. Coomer still can’t move. “Oh, God, Joshie, no, please.” He breaks down, shuddering to pieces on the cold floor, and Coomer.

Still.

Can’t.

Move.

Joshua is six years old. He knows most major constellations by heart thanks to Bubby. He always gets dough in his hair when he helps Coomer make biscuits.

He’s lying on the table in front of Coomer.

Joshua likes to color outside the lines and make pictures in reverse. He wants a pet cat, like his stuffed one. He’s going to name the real one ‘Matilda’ like the girl from his favorite movie. 

That little stuffed cat is waiting for them in a box in another room.

He helped Coomer paint glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Joshua hates s’mores, but eats all the ingredients separately. He laughs at all of Bubby’s nicknames and Coomer’s pet names and he calls them ‘Papa’ and ‘Daddy’ and he’s Coomer’s whole world-

And he’s gone.

Coomer’s knees hit the floor and he hides his face in his hands. His baby is dead. Little Joshua Coomer, the only good thing about this goddamn world, is gone.

-

Eventually, both Bubby and Coomer get to their feet. The nurse is waiting for them outside and he guides them to another room, where Coomer breaks down again at the sight of Mr. Fluffkins, left all on his own in a cardboard box. Joshua’s baby powder smell still clings to the soft fuzz and Coomer cradles the toy in his arms as Bubby helps him to his feet. 

How do you plan a funeral for your own child when you break down just remembering that he’s gone? What do you say to the people in your life who ask about him, don’t know he’s gone yet?

In the end, they cremate him. Coomer has nightmares about his baby in that damn furnace for weeks, but it helps, just a little, when the two of them go to a botanical garden and spread his ashes under a bed of blue daisies. And it’s the first time in weeks that Bubby reaches out and takes his hand, letting Coomer squeeze it gently and just hold on. 

But sometimes, it feels like for every two steps forwards, they take another step back. 

It’s been three months since Joshua… Since Joshua. Coomer sits on the couch, flipping through the results of one of his latest experiments, while Bubby heats up some leftovers in the kitchen. 

“Do you want anything?” Bubby asks and Coomer takes a second to process the question before he shakes his head.

“No, thank you, dear.” 

“Alright.” The silence that dominates the conversation is awkward, and Coomer sighs as Bubby sits down in the armchair, as far away as he can get from Coomer.

“...What’s the point?” Coomer asks eventually and Bubby startles, blinking at Coomer over his glasses. 

“Harold?”

“You won’t even look at me half the damn time.” Coomer sets his papers aside and lays his reading glasses on top of them, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t remember the last time we touched, Bubby.”

“So what are you saying?” Coomer recognizes the tone in Bubby’s voice as him getting defensive, but he’s just… Too tired to argue.

“You know what I’m saying.”

“Well, Harold, I’m gonna make you fucking say it!” Bubby gets to his feet, his dinner tray splattering on the ground, gravy spreading across the floor like brown blood.

“I think we should get a divorce.” Coomer locks eyes with Bubby. “I don’t… I don’t know how to fix us. I don’t know if we  _ can  _ be fixed.”

“Oh, don’t hold back.” Bubby stalks forwards. “Why don’t you just lay all the cards on the GODDAMN table? It’s my fault Joshua’s dead, fucking say it!”

“What?” That triggers emotions in Coomer finally, and he stands, looking at Bubby with confusion. “Bubby, what are you talking about?”

“It-” The rage on his morphs into confusion, and Coomer feels like they’re standing on two sides of the same gap. “H-he was sick. You had all your medical textbooks, and I thought we needed to get him to the hospital.” Bubby pulls away a little bit, but Coomer follows after. Bubby crumples in on himself, cupping his hands over his mouth as he starts to sob, and Coomer wraps him in his arms. Bubby leans into his chest. “And t-the first night he was there…” Bubby curls his hands into Coomer’s chest and Coomer lowers them both to the floor, tears welling up in his eyes at the broken desperation in Bubby’s sobbing. “Oh, God, I thought you hated me…”

“I never once thought it was your fault.” Coomer presses a desperate kiss to Bubby’s hair and Bubby throws his arms around Coomer’s neck. The two cling to each other like they haven’t in months, and Coomer feels like they’re starting to bridge the gap, just a little. “I never blamed you, I never hated you. I was giving you space to grieve. I just didn’t see you were grieving more than our son.” With gentle hands, he cups Bubby’s jaw and meets his gaze, his thumb swiping away tears. “Joshua’s death was not your fault, my love. And I’m sorry I didn’t know you thought that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Bubby swipes at Coomer’s own tears and kisses him, slow and soft, and Coomer sighs a little when they break apart. Bubby snorts a little and leans his forehead against Coomer’s. “I guess we’re a couple of messes, huh?”

“As long as we can be messes together.” That makes Bubby laugh again, but he sobers a little.

“It’s not… It’s not ever going to be the way it was. I can’t pretend to be happy constantly.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Coomer smiles sadly. “I’ll miss him every damn day. I’ll wonder what our lives would be like if he was still here. But then I’ll pack those thoughts away. I can’t let my grief consume me, and I refuse to let it take you from me. We’ve already lost enough, I don’t want to lose each other as well.”

“Okay.” Bubby reaches his hands up to where Coomer’s still cupping his jaw, and laces their fingers together. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“You won’t.” Coomer squeezes Bubby’s hands gently. “You won’t lose me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyyy still here huh? God, dude, I'm... So sorry. Feel free to come beat me to death on my Tumblr: holdyourbreathfornow


End file.
